


Alone Again Or

by Airiella



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Byleth as emotional basket case post merging with Sothis, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Hurt/Comfort, Morally Grey Byleth, Post-Time Skip, Spends one day alone, Suicidal Thoughts, has identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 09:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airiella/pseuds/Airiella
Summary: Byleth is alone but she finds her thoughts wandering to someone else.





	Alone Again Or

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post-chapter 17 and features spoilers for it as well as for Gilbert’s A-support with Dimitri.  
Title taken from the 1967 song by Love.

Byleth is alone. She has already rearranged the bevy of papers on her desk, cleared off her bulletin board, reorganized the drawers, and cleaned her teapot. With nothing left to do within the confines of her own room, she flops down on her bed to wallow in her self-imposed solitude. As much as she would like to flit around to everyone else and focus her energy on their problems, rather than her own, she challenges herself to stay here alone. Byleth has never been one to back down from a challenge.

A simple question is what started this all. _“When was the last time you had a moment to yourself?” _She immediately knew what the answer was—not since her prone form had been dragged out of the river. She has been going nonstop ever since. She suspects there’s more reasons for her inability to relax beyond the obvious. The obvious reason is _him_. His presence has become as much of a prerequisite for comfort as the familiar weight of the Sword of the Creator in her hand and—

She cannot do this to herself. She brings her knees to her chest as sweat beads on her palms. Her stomach twists in knots. They both agreed that he had to start going to meetings alone. It was the best way to signal to everyone that things were different, to stop the harsh whispers that it was simply her demanding his presence. It was a sound strategic move and yet she cannot stop herself, cannot stop the anxiety gnawing away at her.

It was only four months, yet it felt like a lifetime. Her instincts completely retrained; if she cannot see him, she is anxious. She can run through her list of worries as quickly and thoroughly as she can the monastery supply list: _Where is Dimitri? Is Dimitri hurt? Did he do it to himself? Is he talking to himself? Is he talking to the others? Are they getting along? Has he been eating? Has he been bathing? Has he been sleeping? Is he having nightmares? Dimitri. Dimitri. Dimitri. _It is incessant and never ending; her worries never quelled enough to stop the cacophony of anxiety. While it is the ghosts of dead loved ones that haunt him, it is him that haunts her. She has been utterly consumed by him for four months—_no, even longer than that, _she has to remind herself. From his suspicions of the Flame Emperor’s identity, to the horrible confirmation, and the ensuing attack on the monastery, it has been _him. _Goddess, even back to the tragedy at Remire Village, seeing the way the flames danced in his eyes and the hysteria that broke through in his voice—“Enough,” she whispers to herself, “that’s enough.”

It’s been him for so long she can scarcely remember when it wasn’t. Ever since she chose the Blue Lions, he has been an overwhelming presence in her life. She was barely a person before coming to Garreg Mach; she has gained so much from them all, and, yet she cannot help but feel she has lost something in the process as well. Something so elusive to her that she fears she will never be able to get it back. So, she allows herself to linger and feel bitter.

_She is in a rush, picking up supper at the dining hall. She asks for two servings, but she doubts the second will be eaten after she makes her way to the cathedral. While people are steadily streaming back to the monastery, at the moment, its primary occupants are her former students and closest allies. As she approaches them, they immediately start making pleas for her to join them. _

_She stops these overtures with a raised hand, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “I have a request to make, if you’ll allow me.” She clears her throat, trying to steady herself. _

_“I know you’re all aware of Dimitri’s…state. Because of that, I don’t want him left alone. He cannot be allowed to interact with his delusions. I do not want to give him an opportunity to go out…’hunting’ alone.” _

_From her grimace, its immediately apparent what she means by ‘hunting.’ She lets her desire to mention his potential to harm himself die in her throat. That knowledge is a burden she will bear alone, for now. She tries to meet their eyes, but she finds herself having trouble. _

_“I’m planning on taking on the bulk of this alone, but if anyone would be willing to volunteer to help while I have to oversee tactical meetings, I would greatly appreciate it. I know he isn’t the easiest to be around right now.” Her nails bite into her palms at the understatement. She feels so pitifully exhausted._

_“Finally,” she breathes in deep, and tries to project some semblance of authority, “if you do see him alone, find me. I don’t care what hour of the night it is or what you’re doing, this takes priority. I would really appreciate it if you could all assist me with this.” With this plea, she holds her fist over her still heart and bows. She cannot help but feel like she’s begging. _

_She meets each of their eyes until she hears Felix scoff. “Do you really think this feeble attempt is going to help a boar like him?” And she is so fragile after everything, so quickly her hands are shaking. She moves to clasp them behind her back and straightens herself. _

_She tries to recall her strength, to imitate her best teacher voice, “If I remember correctly, it was just a few days ago you were asking me to do something about him, Felix. This is me doing something. If you have any better suggestions, as always, I am open to constructive criticism.” The only response she gets is Felix’s typical sound of indignation as Ingrid glares daggers at him. She manages to collect her meals and leave before bursting into tears. _

Tears do start to form in sympathetic memory with her past self. She wipes them away fiercely with the back of her hand. Byleth may not be able to remember her life before she came to Garreg Mach with any sort of detail, but she remembers the last four months with perfect clarity. She can recall the sharp pain in her back after sleeping on a pew for days; the even harsher pain of an injury she suffered following Dimitri on one of his “hunting” trips. Every biting word, every worried glance—she can relive them as if she were still there.

Perhaps that is why she feels so bitter now. _Bitter_. She should not be bitter, but she is, she feels it so keenly it is like a dark pit in her stomach. She fists her hands in her bedding. _Everyone is just happy to see him “better_,” she tries to remind herself. Yet, it is in this exact line of thinking that she takes issue. Listening to them, she would think that his change in bearing was a Goddess-given miracle, not something they both fought for with blood, sweat and tears. Not something that they sacrificed heavily for. They do not know that he still hears their voices, is plagued by nightmares, and will probably always be. She knows that she cannot tell them he is still working _so hard, how dare you minimize this. _Even as her own distress builds, she has to remind herself that it’s better this way. The people do not need to know their leader is still battling with demons, not when everything is so precarious. If things are supposed to be better, why doesn’t she feel better?

Byleth closes her eyes, tight. _Blood, sweat, and tears. _She does not want to think about that sacrifice. She does not want to think about Rodrigue. Not yet. She cannot stand what it reveals about her. What bothers her the most was how easy the decision was to let him die. She calculated the potential loss and benefit and left her Divine Pulse unused, watching as he faded from the world. She wonders what Sothis would say at this dereliction and finds herself void of an answer. All Byleth can recall in this moment is Catherine’s surprise when she voiced her understanding of Catherine’s selfless devotion to Lady Rhea. She was surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth as well. In that moment, she knows if she had to run through Rodrigue through with her own sword to save Dimitri, she would have done so. Maybe this was what she’s lost, _herself. _

So, she lays there and resolves that this has been more than enough self-reflection to last her until the war is over. Again, his words replay in her mind. _“You should rest today. When was the last time you had a moment to yourself?” _

_And she knows he means well but something ugly threatens to escape from her lips at that. She chokes down what either could have been a laugh or a sob and manages, “maybe I will.”_

And so, she did. Now, she is trying to cope with the consequences of that decision. She wonders when she became completely incapable of being alone with herself, of dealing with her own drifting thoughts. She used to enjoy the scant few moments alone she had when she was a professor. Now, she was not even sure if she knew herself. 

She removes her arm from over her eyes to catch a glimpse of the fading light out her window. Her fingers itch at her palms. _We were supposed to have dinner; where is he? _Her stomach turns, not from hunger, but from slowly building panic. She brings her fingers to her temples to try to relieve the pressure there, as the impulse to look for him wars with the thought that _he is probably fine. No, really. _She pulls her pillow over her face to muffle the groan she lets out. It would be so easy to leave, to end this torture.

Byleth is abruptly pulled out of her ruminations by the sound of the door. Relief washes over her like a wave, so powerful it makes her feel weak. “Dimitri, good timing, the dining hall is going to close soon—" Her relief is short-lived; as she starts to get up and he comes into view, she can tell that he is trembling. She manages another half-step towards him before she is enveloped in his arms. He is shaking and it takes their closeness for her to realize he is sobbing. Every fiber of her being wants to panic, but she forces herself to stay calm as he stoops to more effectively bury his face into the crook of her neck. She runs her fingers through his hair as he leans more heavily against her. He is the only one who can make her feel this small. “What happened, Dimitri?” She tries so hard to keep her voice steady, but she cannot hide the quiver.

He clings to her as if she will disappear. He hasn’t been this emotional with her since Rodrigue’s death, when they grasped each other in the rain, and before that—well, she supposes it has been five years since then.

What he says, she swears makes her unbeating heart stutter in her chest, “I don’t want to die.” It is a whisper, a rasp, _a prayer_. The power of such words immediately brings tears to her eyes and she clings to him even tighter. She finally understands his reaction, because she feels similarly. There is so much to deconstruct from those five simple words; she feels as if time is slowing around her as she does so. First, there is the implication that he still wished to die, which, while she is not surprised, stings. What led to this change of heart?

“I’m so happy to hear that,” and she sounds breathless, but she hopes he can hear the _smile _behind those words. Now, she cannot stop herself from letting out a peal of sobbing laughter, and she can just imagine what a pair they look like. He is already leaning on her so heavily it is easy to lead him to her—their bed. She lays him down while she sits, carefully positioning his head in her lap.

She begins to run her hands through his hair again before looking down to meet his eye. His gaze takes her breath away; he is looking up at her so reverently she feels as if she’s the Goddess herself. “Please, Dimitri, tell me what happened.”

He closes his eye. Inhales, exhales. Byleth removes one of her hands from his hair, and reaches down to grab his, finding it still shaking. She presses a soft kiss against his gloved knuckles, and shakily, he begins to speak. “Gilbert—No, Gustave—kept bringing up the Tragedy…how he had failed my father. How he wished to atone for his sins.”

His voice grows softer and she slowly starts to remove the covering from his hands. “I told him if he truly wished to atone, he should strike me down, to join the others.” Her chest seizes again, and she cannot stop the unbidden tears from falling and landing on his face. He gives her a sad smile, and gingerly brushes away her tears with his newly uncovered hands. “It’s okay, my beloved. I tried to pass that request off as disingenuous to him but…”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re a terrible liar, Dimitri,” and Byleth laughs despite herself, a pitiful sound. She can picture him perfectly upon the Goddess Tower, and his wish that they would be together forever. The awkward moment that followed when she refused to let him pass it off as a joke. Her grip on his hand tightens.

His voice grows stronger, “yes, he saw through me as easily as you do. After our meetings today, I decided to stop by the cathedral before returning to you. He followed me there, sword in hand.” Even though he is laying there, whole in her lap she can still feel her anxiety building. 

“He told me he was ready to atone, and, in that moment, I was fully ready to die.” Now she is the one shaking against him. She cannot stop herself from imagining the scene: Dimitri on his knees, head bowed, the last dying light of the day illuminating the cathedral in soft pink hues she’s become so familiar with. Just as easily, she can picture his slumped form, if things had gone differently.

Now, he draws her hand to his lips. “It-it took the swing of the blade for me to realize that I didn’t want to die, not truly.” She has to bow her head down to hear what he says next, his voice soft, “I was shaking—I—I thought of you.” She cannot repress her sobs any longer, hearing him say that.

Bowed over him as she is, she’s not sure how long they stay like that before she regains enough control to look back down at him. She almost expects to look down and see two eyes gazing back up at her. She took him into her lap like this to soothe him after Remire. It’s been less than a year for her and she isn’t sure if things really were simpler then, or just different. She feels that she has to say it, “I’m glad you don’t want to die.” The words feel strange to say, yet they’re so true that she feels no awkwardness. She does not know if she wants to thank Gilbert or throttle him; perhaps both.

He reaches up to draw her into a chaste kiss, “I’m happy too, my beloved,” and she can feel his smile against her lips. She has no illusions that things are going to be easy from here on out, but in this moment, she is happy and hopeful. She is feeling _better. _

“There’s just one problem, Dimitri.” She starts scooching her petite body out from underneath him, legs almost completely asleep at this point.

He frowns at her, worry evident in his face, “What?”

“The dining hall is closed, what are we going to eat for dinner?” And she is happy to spend another dinner alone with him, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is the first time I actually managed to transfer fic from my brain to the page, so I hope it's okay! Any comments are appreciated--I love talking about Dimitri Fire Emblem!


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